The Scribblings of an Idiot Fool
by Captain101
Summary: A year ago Vince Noir died and his best friend didnt know. A year on Howard is struggling to cope. All he has are 48 letters Vince wrote him, 48 letters he sent back unopened. Now Howard must find the strength to live again. IM SORRY, BUT IM BACK NOW!
1. Make him alive again

**_AN: And here we are, weeks on and the sequal to Unanswered Letters has begun. This doesn't have much to it at the moment, but you can look forward to at the very least some Hanna bashing, as most of you will appreciate, i know Howard will. Some fluffy flashbacks and some angst cause we all know from UL that i just hate that category, :-P _**

**_Hope this sequal does UL justice, and i desperately hope you all like it - after all i did start it on my schoolies holiday! I know the title isn't the best, but i found it slightly sweet - never the less if you can think of something better drop me a line. _**

**_I want to thank all of you for your support of UL, and this is to everyone who read, reviewed, and rekindled my love of fan fiction. THANKYOU!_**

**_A special thanks for Stars of Andromeda, who spurred the mind tank for this sequal - the fact you wanted one made me VERY happy indeed. Anyway i think it's on with the story. Be warned, now i have to start making my own crap up, poor darlin's - be polite everyone and meet Jane, (hanna comes later...) and if she becomes Mary Sue at all SCREAM AT ME! PLEASE. I think i've become displaced after a month of revision notes and essays, so beat me with rods if anything isn't up to scratch. I'll keep them at the door. _**

**_Captain Jacq XX_**

**_Disclaimer: Once again im playing with other peoples toys - Barratt and Feilding, you cheeky bitches.\_**

**_Chapter One_**

The sun was working its way down the sky as Howard Moon stepped off the bus, a bundle of letters cradled tenderly in his arms. A heavier burden to the thirty something musician than the weight of the paper permitted. Howard had been used to sitting alone on the bus for the majority of his life, even in his school days he reminisced sadly, he'd sat by himself amidst the screaming kids, the seat beside him empty while Vince would perch on the top of the bars of whichever seat he'd been offered that morning. Choosing to clamber over whoever was seated behind Howard to talk when there was a break in the conversation. Howard had never been popular, no one really ever _chose_ to talk to him voluntarily, he was usually dragged into anything by Vince who'd always tried to include Howard until it became painfully obvious that Howard didn't want to be included and he'd give up. Howard's sad smile widened as his vision was filled with the image of a smiling laughing boy with dazzling blue eyes and amber blonde hair, It was this blank filled gaze that left the seat beside Howard empty today. His hands clenched around a bundled collection of unopened envelopes as though they were pure gold and the small creases of smiles and frowns at the blank air in front of him kept everyone shuffling as far as the bus would allow. But today Howard was too caught up in himself to care. He was a long way from the person he'd been back at school; he was a long way from the person he'd been just two years ago. But it was two years ago that haunted him now, now he was further ingrained in the past than just an empty seat. In the two years since he'd last seen those sparkling blue eyes he'd learned to survive on his own. He'd learned much about himself and the world around him. But in almost every respect Howard TJ Moon had still been a child. He'd been a child given a second chance, a second childhood. It had taken a while to realise, but once he had he'd learned to fit in to a point where Howard Moon didn't sit alone on the bus anymore. People would approach him and they'd talk – every day - except today. Today Howard's old life had resurfaced and it had done wonders. The confident man with his gaze pointed forwards, ever afraid of what was behind him, was now firmly facing backwards. He was staring and at the point where he wanted to start screaming. Screaming a single name and run, run until he found him. Until he could reach out and touch him. Prove that he was real and not just something he'd managed to create to sate his unfailing loneliness in the real world. The past had been all about him. Vince Noir. Vince had been Howard's past. His whole past, and now all he had left was forty eight unopened letters. Forty eight unanswered letters. Forty Eight rejections of a past he'd turned his back on when Vince had needed him most. He'd used Vince time and time again whenever he needed it. Like a drug, used him to the point where the drug no longer worked. He'd turned his back on him, and now – like most things in his life – Howard regretted it and wanted to go back and change it. Now he knew better he just wanted to start again, have a second go at his second chance.

But he couldn't.

Now all he could do was sit, a thousand miles away, lost in another time. Lost in a shock of black hair carefully styled, a blue eyed twinkle, a catching laugh, a plot of grass and a marble headstone.

Howard smiled again sadly as the face swum back into focus.

Vince.

A horn blared all of a sudden and Howard blinked, the image of Vince disappearing like smoke in the breeze, making way for the reality of red brickwork and green architraves of the flat he shared.

Howard stared, his stomach lurched unpleasantly and he clutched the pile closer to his chest. He couldn't remember getting off the bus, couldn't remember his feet moving him in the familiar direction of home. But they'd managed it, they'd moved of their own accord and now that he was here he didn't want to be. All of a sudden the complacency he'd been feeling evaporated, paving the way for something almost like fear that left him strangely empty. He didn't want to go inside. Didn't want to have to face everything new. All of it from his new life. There was nothing left of his old one. No photo's or cd's or clothes. He'd started again, piece by piece removing it until he was completely new. Even his moustache had been shaved off and grown anew. All that was left of Howard TJ Moon's past was a name and a face almost forcibly forgotten. Vince Noir.

Only now he didn't want to forget anymore. He didn't want to have to be Howard Moon, Jazz Man. He wanted to be Howard Moon, Jazz Maverick – small eyed freak, social outcast, wardrobe defiler. He wanted for the first time in two years to just disappear in the light of someone brighter than himself.

He wanted something he couldn't have.

But lacking that he wanted to turn around and run away. Run back to the once glittered shop and pretend nothing had changed. Surround himself in everything that could remind him of a past he had tried to erase. Drown himself in useless artefacts and overly bright familiarity, coloured clothes and electro noise, rather than necessities, muted tones and carefully constructed matching outfits balanced with cool jazz and classical orchestral scores.

He wanted to run back to where nothing had changed. But there was nothing there. No one to run back to. Nothing but an accessorised grave plot and a Shaman at odds with how he felt about what was happening. Still, even that was closer to everything he'd had and lost than anything he surrounded himself with now.

"Howard?" Howard jumped as the door opened and a pair of large brown eyes peered out from under a barely tamed bush of hair.

"Howard you okay?" Jane asked tentatively, Howard blinked rapidly.

"Yeah," he muttered. Tears brimming at his lids unconsciously. He barely knew where he was anymore. He sure as hell didn't know what he was doing. He clutched the bundle of letters close to his chest. They were all he had. All he had left.

"You sure Honey? You've been out here for five minutes just staring at the door."

Howard cleared his throat, mind buzzing with what to say, reply that he was fine, but the tears he'd kept in all day seemed to choose that moment to appear and everything that came with them rushed up in a wave that felt similar to vomiting. It erupted in a cascade of tears down his face and a small half controlled sob.

"Oh Howard!" Jane whispered pulling him towards her, her slim frame enveloping him as he fought to disappear. Normally Howard towered over her, but he shrunk in on himself and allowed the three steps to make her taller than himself, her cheek resting on his head and her fingers in his curls.

"Oh Howard, honey – come on. Inside." She whispered, stroking his hair. He didn't care. He barely noticed, but complied, allowing her sure hands to pull him inside and guide him to the couch. All he could do himself was cry. Let tears fall he'd felt since that morning, when he'd first unconsciously opened Naboo's letter and pulled his past sharply into focus, directly into his hands so he could feel it disappear. Feel everything crumble beneath him, everything, all the memories he'd used as a foundation for his new independent life collapse under him. A frame covered with a layer of concrete and hidden, forgotten, but always there. Feel those foundations shatter and collapse beneath him, leaving him winded and unsure of where he stood. Of where he was going. Of who he was even. In the old days he'd been Howard Moon, Jazz Maverick and Vince Noir's best friend and ugly shadow. Then he was Vince Noir's best friend who'd run off and was too afraid to go back. Now, now he was Howard Moon. Just Howard Moon. Howard Moon, Jazz man is what the others called him. What he'd been that morning before and after he'd drank a cup of coffee, read the paper and bent down to open the mail. Five minutes later everything was different. The Jazz Man disappeared and he was Just Howard Moon.

He'd always been a Jazz Man. But the name represented so much more. Represented independence and freedom and _purpose._ What did that absence tell him now? What did it mean when everything old was gone? Everything that really mattered, was gone? There wasn't any Vince anymore. There hadn't been for a year, but now Howard knew Vince was gone. Now he _knew_ there was no more Vince. He _knew._ That morning Vince Noir, everything he had been, everything Howard had constructed in his head to combat the guilt of leaving and the content he felt in his new skin, had evaporated. Vince Noir ceased to exist and Howard felt alone and scared.

It had been fifteen years since he'd just been Howard Moon, Just Howard Moon. And he didn't like what he remembered at all. It wasn't like what he was, or had been, yesterday. It wasn't like what he'd been two years ago. No, he'd just been Howard Moon. Howard Moon with no Vince Noir and at a point where he didn't know he'd ever get one. But now he was Just Howard Moon again, no Vince Noir to save him, Vince had disappeared from his past – evaporated and he needed Vince Noir to be Howard Moon, Jazz Man. He didn't want the Jazz Man to disappear too. Not like Howard Moon, Jazz Maverick had.

"Howard?" Howard looked up into Jane's face, her small heart shaped face, swimming in and out of focus with his tears.

"Honey, it's okay."

"S'not." He retorted bluntly, and if he admitted, just a little rudely.

"It's not, Jane." He drawled, trying to meet her gaze only for tears to brim over his eyes again and he sunk back into the couch, covering his face with his hands, the letters still resting, unopened, in his lap. Her fingers reached out tentatively and played with his hair. Her fingers toying over the strands as Vince had done on occasion.

"_I like your hair Howard. It's soft – like brown smoke, an yeh do nuffin wif it. But it's nice."_

"_It's fine. Not, 'like smoke'." He huffed. Vince giggled._

"_You're such a nonce Howard."_

He pulled away. Disgusted with himself,

"I'm sorry, Janie." He muttered, knowing she was looking at him oddly.

"He, he. When we, he used to – he's gone, Janie. He's _gone._" The tears came again and once again he hid behind his hands.

"He's gone and I didn't even know. I didn't know."

"Oh Howard, honey I know." She murmured, reaching out to wrap her arms around him again. Holding him close as he shook.

"I saw the letters on the floor when I got home from work." She whispered.

"How could I not have known, Janie? A year. It was a whole year and I didn't even _know_ something was _wrong!_ I didn't know he was sick! How could I have missed it? She had no right – keeping it from me. No right. I should have been there. I should have known." He muttered into her hair, her hands stroking his own.

"Who had no right?" she asked softly.

"Hanna." He spat back, the build up of venom he'd been bottling up since Naboo had told him suddenly burst.

"She, she kept it from me!" he said, voice building and he jerked out of Jane's grasp.

"She knew! Naboo came – he came to get me! Vince, Vince, he – he asked for me! _Me!_ An' Naboo came to get me, but Hanna told him I didn't want to know! She knew Vince was – that he was – she _knew_ and didn't tell me! She kept it from me, and he died alone, Janie. All he wanted was me, all he wanted… was me. An' she kept it from me. He died alone because of her." His anger diminished in a wave of tears and by the end Howard's voice was barely a whisper. Tears running down his cheeks like rivers and his voice guttural and broken like a baby babbling.

"She probably didn't know everything, Howard."  
"SHE DID!" it took Howard a moment to realise he was standing up and had screamed down at Jane rather than the same whisper as before.

"HE CAME, TIME AND TIME AGAIN AND EVERY TIME SHE SENT HIM AWAY – SHE HID HIM FROM ME, HID EVERYTHING FROM ME! VINCE DIED WITHOUT ME AND HE THOUGHT I HATED HIM!"

"You did, Howard." Jane whispered. She was still seated, but Howard felt as though she was towering above him and had kicked him violently in the stomach.

"You hated him for a lone time Howard. It tore you apart. You didn't know who you were when you left, Honey. I know it's hard to hear, but it's true. You hated the way he'd left you on your own and didn't even realize it. You hated the way he was, the way he treated you. He didn't have any respect for you, Howard. And you didn't have any respect for yourself. It's taken you this long to figure everything out, and she, she was just trying to protect you. I," she stopped, her eyes dropped from Howard's for a moment but Howard couldn't turn away. He was rooted to the spot. Staring down at Jane with wide eyes. His tears had stopped but he didn't even realize it. The letters were at his feet on the carpet but he didn't see them. All he saw was the hesitance in jane's face as she looked back up at him and spoke again.

"Howard I might have done the same thing if I'd been my sister as well. You, you didn't need him any more. You _don't _need him, and it would have destroyed you if you'd gone back."  
"In opposed to now? He _died_ Jane. He died, and all he wanted was me. Wanted…" Howard stopped, he didn't know what Vince had wanted. Didn't know even now. Just that he'd wanted him.

"He wanted what you used to have, Howard. He wanted the past where he was safe and wasn't in pain or ill. That's what he wanted, and you were that past. You didn't want to go back to that past, Howard. Why else do you think you sent back every single one of these letters?" she asked, bending down to pick up the pile.

"Why, Howard? He wanted safety and you wanted independence. You couldn't have both."  
"But he would have been happy." Howard muttered, voice barely above a whisper. Each of Jane's words sinking into him like a dead weight. The force of them feeding that little voice Howard hadn't listened to all day.

_She__'s right. _  
"But you wouldn't have been."

"I could have fixed myself again."

"I don't think you could have, if you'd gone back Howard you would have stayed there. You'd still be missing something. Do you remember telling me that?"

"yes." He whispered,

"you'd still feel that whole, Howard. Only it would be deeper. Larger. It'd consume you Howard. Back then you relied too much on him. If you hadn't left Howard, there'd be nothing of you left."  
"I miss him, Janie. I've always missed him. Only now – he's not there. He's gone. Forever. It's like-" he stopped, tears brimming again.

"It's like he's just disappeared, an' I don't even know if he ever existed. I got rid of _everything._ All of it. I threw it all out. All I have are memories and I don't even know if they're all real. Whether he was real. He's just gone." Jane's face was downcast as she stood up and looked straight into his eyes. Eyes filled with pity, with sadness, with something Howard didn't recognize.

"He was real, Howard. You have him in here," she murmured raising her hand to his head, "in here," her hand trailed down to his heart, "and here." She said, pressing the bundle of unopened letters into Howards hands.

"Read them, Howard." She muttered, eyes never leaving his.

"I tried. I went to the cemeta- I, I just couldn't." he managed to reply. He'd had so much strength back at the Nabootique, but it had evaporated by the time he'd reached the cemetery. He'd stared at the gravestone and before he could do a thing turned and ran. Ran as far as he could, until he could barely breathe. He'd failed him again.

This time he wouldn't.

"Try again, Honey. Take your time. Read them as he sent them, listen to what he had to tell you, Howard. Make him alive again. Only you can."


	2. The Pit of Despair

**_AN: and here's chapter two. More angst i'm afraid, though next chapter you all get what you've been waiting for. Though i wont let you in on it yet. You'll know what you're getting by the end of this one. I'm glad this sequal has been met well, it's a weight off the shoulders that it's up to par with the other one. I owe the idea that Howard's chinese burns are inadvertinly self harm and may have progressed further to APrincessRose in her All the Small Hours fic (brilliant by the by - read it if you havent). That idea struck a chord with me, and i dont see why i didn't see it before, as sad a joke as it was to begin with. _****_Any way additionally, i'm glad that you think Jane isn't quite a Mary Sue, or at least she isn't at the moment. Never the less, the rods are there if i ever need instruction, so dont be afraid to pull one out. That almost sounds wrong. So i'll leave it there, and until the next installment. _**

**_CHAFFINCH!_**

**_Captain Jacq XX_**

**_Disclaimer: ALLLLL made up. An' aint we glad! _**

**_Chapter Two_**

Howard still felt Jane's gaze on his back as he left the room. They hadn't spoken for about two minutes before Howard couldn't withstand the awkward silence anymore and left. He'd simply stood holding the bundle and staring at it. Staring at his name carefully configured in Vince's handwriting. He'd had so much creativity to share, but when it came to writing Vince made it seem like one of the most painful things in the world. The Charlie Books had been an exemption – they alone seemed delighted in telling a tale, rather than simply configuring words. Perhaps that had been the difference with Vince, it was easier telling a story than telling the truth – his morning (or mid afternoon) excuses seemed testimony enough. These letters seemed somehow different though. They certainly scared him, and he didn't even know anything about their contents yet. Perhaps they were Vince telling him he was a berk, a twat, glad he was gone. Howard's stomach had plummeted at that thought. After all he, Howard, had abandoned Vince at his most trying time. Perhaps all Vince had to say was that he hated him, and had sent the same letter time and again waiting for him to read it and understand that he hated him. Those thoughts once spoken seemed to infiltrate Howard like a virus – swimming throughout him yelling at his befuddled brain from all sides, drowning him. Pulling him deeper into despair. A lone voice almost drowned out by the cacophony. A single voice reminding him of what Naboo had said.

Vince could never have hated him.

Still, it was like an army was marching through Howard. Screaming at the top of their lungs. Each one with a different insult. Different voice. But all joined in telling one fear. That maybe Vince hadn't ever needed Howard, that all of it was an elaborate show determined to ruin him. Force him into remembering everything and make it that much harder to reject again. Tormented with the knowledge that after all Howard Moon had never meant anything to Vince Noir, when every part of Howard was founded on the knowledge that Vince had meant everything to him.

Dragging his feet Howard stared, entranced at his name pressed into the paper of the first envelope. It was expensive, like parchment or handmade or something, there was glitter embedded in it. A small smile pulled Howard's lips, glitter. Everything made of glitter.

"_You're the Sunshine Kid Vince"._

"_I'm like a beachball Howard. There's nothing to me."_

Should he have told him what he'd been thinking that day? He wanted to have done it now. But back then he would have turned about six shades of red before progressing through yellow to green if he'd said what he'd thought.

_A beach ball is built on the air of other people, Vince. Others work hard for it, and when it__'s inflated, it's so joyous. It's so much fun, the life of the party. I wish I was a beach ball, Vince. But beside you I'm like a bleeding golf ball. Small, hard and good only for hitting with sticks._

Stumbling into his room Howard remained unaware that Jane was watching him from the doorway, her mouth twisted in a sad frown and her eyes strangely haunted. Closing the door Howard crossed the room that was his at number thirty one, Haret Drive. It wasn't all that much different from the one he'd had at the Nabootique. Where at the flat he'd had a muffin paint scheme here he'd gone rogue and chosen an aggressive nutmeg. He'd felt very proud of himself when he'd watched the paint cover the walls (and himself more so, he'd never been that great with a brush). It had been almost liberating. Now, he felt small in the walls. Drowned out by the colour, by the sheer force of it. The independence. He felt alien in his own sanctuary. The records in the corner were all his, Davis, Mingus, Spider and Rudi, Howling Jimmy. They were all there. All his. But they didn't help at all. He didn't belong here. This person, the nutmeg walls, the patterned bedspread, the black and white and muffin and nutmeg and beige and browns, the red satin shirt certainly … the clothes neatly hung in his wardrobe weren't _his. _They didn't belong to the person he was now. He didn't know who the hell he was now. He felt fake. Fake and alone.

Howard fell back onto his bed hands bound tight around the bundle of letters. He clenched his eyes tight sighed, letting the image of Vince beaming at him form on the back of his eyelids.

"_Howard._" His voice echoed in Howard's ears, a sound locked away in a vault that he'd sworn he'd lost the key.

"_Vince."_ He whispered back. Vince's face fell, no longer smiling Vince didn't really seem like Vince anymore.

"_I'm sorry. Vince I'm sorry." _Howard called out, unsure of whether Vince was angry or not. Vince looked up. Eyes crinkled sadly. Howard's heart fell.

"_Me too, Howard." _

"_I'd give anything to go back. Anything."_

"_I know." _

"_I wasn't angry at you."_

"_Yes you were, Howard."_

"_No__ – I swear."_

"_You don't have to lie to me Howard. I understand." _He muttered, a small sad smile pulling at his lips before he suddenly turned to leave.

"_No! Vince!" _the words shouted from Howard's lips before he could think. All he knew was that his heart doubled in pace the moment Vince turned his back on him. He couldn't let him. Couldn't let him walk away. Couldn't let him leave.

"_Take me with you." _

"_I__ can't Howard."_

"_Please."_

"_I__ can't." _He muttered turning away again, walking into the darkness before Howard could stop him.

"_No! Vince! Wait!" _but Vince didn't stop. He kept walking, disappearing into the blackness and no matter how hard Howard ran, Vince kept disappearing. He didn't get a step closer, but Vince kept getting further and further away.

"_Vince!" _he shouted, stumbling forward. Falling in the darkness only to jerk awake.

"Howard?" Jane called softly through the door.

"Howard, are you alright?"

"Yeah." He managed to choke out. It took a moment for him to realize he was crying again.

"Just a minute." He called, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with trembling hands. His heart thumping in his chest and the image of Vince walking away running around and around in his head. All of a sudden he felt an inescapable torment, like he was suddenly horribly aware and drowning in the emptiness of the hole Vince had left. The space he'd kept in his heart and managed to cover over, lock the door and pretend wasn't there. Now he felt it. Felt how wide it was and heard his own voice echo in its caverns as Vince disappeared. Howard fell forward into his hands, elbows resting on his knees and whimpered. He felt so hollow, so empty and somehow guilty.

"_I didn't hate you."_

"_Yes you did."_

"_You hated him, Howard…"_

_I didn't._

_Yes. You did._

The last voice ricocheting around in his skull. That tiny voice that was always there, always ready to tell him just what he didn't want to hear, bouncing around. It was happy. That voice. It was only happy, it seemed, when Howard was not. It had been the voice that had told him to turn his anger on himself back at the shop – the Chinese burns that Jane and Hanna had told him may have led further if he hadn't stopped when he had. A little voice that delighted in Howard's misery, fed off his ill thoughts and made them multiply, feeding them in return. The single being that created the monster. The army marching through his mind and yelling his despair.

Howard hated that voice.

He hated it more when it was right.

"Howard, are you sure you're okay?" Jane's voice echoed through the door again and Howard sighed. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

He cleared his throat again.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"  
"Yeah." He replied again.

"I'm making soup if you want some."

_Soup soup a tasty soup soup a spicy carrot and __coriander…_

"No, I'm, I'm fine."  
"I can make you something else if you want."

"_Eggs milk and flour, pancake power…"_

"_Have you heard of rice, Vince?"  
"I've heard of rice crispies…"_

"_Make us a cuppa, will ya Vince?"_

"No, I'm okay."

_"You okay little man, you haven't eaten anything today."  
"Yeah, course. I'm just not hungry Howard. It's fine."_

"You sure?"

_"Hungry Vince?"  
"Starving!"_

"I'll get something later." He called, waiting until her heard her feet disappear again before he reached over and picked up the pile again. Why on earth was it so damn heavy? He sighed, turning it over again and again. Naboo had bound them all together with red string, a parcel wrapped up in memories of a time Howard desperately wanted to experience, and one that Naboo seemed unable to escape. Had he been as tormented as Howard was now? The thought almost made Howard snort. Even considering everything he'd seen today, seen that haunted look in Naboo's eyes, it was hard to imagine the small Shaman experiencing grief. Naboo was so… deadpan. He, somehow seemed to make Howard think he was immune to it. Naboo had always seemed immune to everything. The thought twisted Howard's gut. He felt sick, sick with grief. He wanted to be immune, not be able to feel that gaping hole inside his chest – but at the same time he relished in it. In a way he wanted to feel it. Punish himself with it. It was almost like he was drowning, sitting on the bottom of a lake holding onto the rocks to stop himself floating to the top just because he was used to breathing. He was used to life without Vince, and he was terrified that he would allow himself to simply go on. Right then it was the last thing in the world he thought he could manage. How on earth could it be possible to forget the feeling as though his heart had been cut in two, and filled with holes at the same time? Feel the echoing screams rippling throughout him, the weight in his limbs making each movement a chore, and the inescapable sound of his own heart beating mocking him with each rhythmic pulse. How could he possibly get over it? But all the same, somehow, something told him he had a right to be afraid of it happening. That tiny voice, and all its followers echoing in agreement, that Vince was past him, beyond him. There was no helping him, no point in lingering on the past. On things he couldn't quite help. The voice suddenly sounding strangely like Jane's and that made him feel even worse. She was trying to help him. That's all she had ever done. Help him. Drag him to his feet whenever he'd needed it – leaving Hanna to take over and make sure he didn't fall again. That was how they'd worked.

It took Howard a moment to realize he was crushing the pile of letters in his hands as his thoughts turned to the blonde sibling who shared the three bedroom flat. Her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Howard growled.

How many times had she turned Naboo away? How many times had she thrown caution and common decency to the wind to keep him, Howard, on his feet? Keep him dancing and everything else set to make him stumble firmly out of reach. How many times? Howard stiffened as muffled voices echoed through the door. How long had he been asleep? He glanced over at the clock and 7.43 flashed in his eyes. It was late. Late enough for only one person to join Jane in the kitchen.

Howard stood up. Steely eyed and determined, Vince firmly grasped in his minds eye. That small smile feeding his rage.

"_I went against what Vince told me. I broke my promise, Howard! I lied to him when I looked for you._

Lovingly placing the bundle on the bed, Howard turned to the door. The look in his eyes cold enough to freeze steel. His fists clenched of their own accord, blood rushing in his ears. One memory running through his mind. That day, hearing Naboo's voice echo through his mind.

" _I came to get you – against what I promised him, I came so many times! You weren't there! I left notes! – You never replied! I asked to see you, you didn't want to talk! Every damn time, Howard!"_

"_You did?"  
"Yeah! The girl! I left a note; the girl said she'd give it to you. I called, you never answered!"  
" She said she'd give it to me?"_

"_Yeah, a blonde girl."  
_Hanna.

Howard opened the door, breathing hard. He stepped out of his room and his footsteps echoed ahead of him. By the time he reached them the flat was eerily silent. Jane's arms folded and a sour look on her face that softened out to sadness when she looked up at Howard, while Hanna's went blank and Howard saw her gulp visibly as she faced him, nervously rising from the seat she had been lounging in as she talked to her sister.

"Howard –" she began.

"No." he snapped, biting back the urge to suddenly cry and simply ask her why. He stood tall. Broad shouldered, proud, ready.

"No. I don't want to hear it. What you did was unjustifiable! I don't care what you have to say right now. This time you don't speak, Hanna. This time you listen."


	3. The Guilty and the Blamed

**_AN: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO DAMN LONG! I have been trying to complete a major work of fiction, and now the steam has run out. This chapter, and the final continuation of this story, is because of Face_like_an_open_book and her Depression fic. She's put me in a mood, what with all her torture of Vincie, and bad bad Howard. So with some dislike for Howard and sufficient poking, i give you chapter three, and the yelling Hanna deserves. I know you've been waiting for this moment for a while, and the pressure to get Howard's reaction right sort of added to the break between chapters. I hope you like this, and i think i finally found Howard's voice right for what he had to say._**

**_I'm also kinda sorry for the cliff hanger, but its where i want to stop it. You will NOT be waiting this long for the next bit. I'm going to set myself to finishing this soon. I'm quite enjoying writing some of the letters. Next chapter will get one. promise!_**

**_the Captain XOX_**

**_Dedication: Tegan, here we go again. This is your fault._**

**_Disclaimer: these fictional characters aren't mine, i just like making them cry. So does Tegan. They belong to Barratt and Fielding, who like making them kiss on rooftops and then deny their love. If they were mine, they would have a happy ending. Eventually. TEGAN???? You hearing me?! :-P_**

Hanna's blue eyes were wide as Howard stared down at her. She nodded.

"By now Jane would have told you. I'm guessing. But I don't care. You had no right to what you did, Hanna. No right. I'm not going to say I don't appreciate everything you did for me. You helped me out of a dark time – but you had _no_ right to hide it from me. _No right!_ He was _dying!_ And all he wanted – all he wanted was me!" Howard stopped, his voice breaking from the strain.

"What on _earth_made you think you had any right to turn them away? Keep him from me? God – Hanna! I just!" he stopped, suddenly the anger was gone. All he wanted was something to explain. For all his intent not to let her speak, he chose the one word he'd asked himself a thousand times.

"Why?" the look in her eyes was something Howard never thought he would be able to erase. The hurt, the disappointment, the… anguish.

"I'm so sorry, Howard. Really." She murmured.

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY SORRY! THERE'S NO CHANCE I CAN FORGIVE YOU!" He roared; fists clenched tight. Each word he spoke seemed like a physical blow to her. She flinched as each one left his lips.

"I can _never_ forgive you! All I want is to _understand_ why you killed him. Because you did! His heart would have held out for years, if you knew him you wouldn't doubt that! Do you know why animals die in captivity within the first two weeks if they've come from the wild? Why more elderly die in retirement homes than in their own? It's because they give up! Their hearts give out! Vince died broken hearted, Hanna. He gave up! You did that to him." Howard was silent for a moment. Watching her. She turned her attention to the floor; he could see tears rolling down her cheeks.

"We did that to him." Howard murmured. His voice was defeated. He could feel Jane's gaze on him, but all he wanted was Hanna's. She looked up and met him head on.

"I sent the letters back, Hanna. But you sent back Naboo. We killed Vince. And I can never forgive us for it. I'm sorry, Hanna. You helped me, you did. But this – there's nothing that can fix this. I can hate myself forever; I can punish myself any way I want. But I can't punish you, because, honestly? The only reason I won't do what I want to, is because Vince wouldn't want me to. We killed him, Hanna – but I can't punish you because Vince cared too much about other people for me to punish you. All I can do is let you punish yourself. Because of what you did, the world is missing the sweetest man I've ever known. Because of what we did – I lost the man I loved." Howard shut his mouth with a finality that brought no other sound from the room. He turned and walked back to his bedroom, leaving both Hanna and Jane where they stood. Watching him go.

Shutting his door he slid down the wood and let his head sink into his hands. He didn't know how long he sat crying, but no sound seemed to penetrate the wood. He missed the sounds of Hanna and Jane's conversation. The guilt passing between both sisters. He missed the tears and Hanna's scream of fury at her elder sister. He missed the slamming doors and the hurriedly packed suitcase. He missed the stilted conversation as Hanna dragged her suitcase across the room. He missed the quick goodbye.

But his head perked up to the sound of a slamming door. A slamming door that closed his relationship with Hanna completely. A slamming door that made him feel guiltily that justice was somewhat served, as personal and horrible as it was. After all it was Hanna and Jane's apartment he was sharing. Only now it was his and Jane's.

And yet all he wanted was a small shareroom with a vibrant electro boy far too obsessed with the shape and volume of his hair than could be considered even possibly normal.

Silence enclosed the flat like a blanket. Impenetrable. Tears glistened in Howard's eyes. He shut them; Vince smirked at him from the underside of his lids.

"_Alright, Howard?"_

His eyes shot open, and his gaze fell on the bundle of letters perched on his bed.

Vince had written to him forty eight times without reply.

Howard scrambled across the room and took the bundle up in his hands.

He pulled the bundle close and without thinking he unwrapped the red string. The pile loosened and with shaking hands Howard took out the last letter. The very last thing Vince ever wrote to him.

He needed to know.

He was trembling as he slid his fingers through the paper. He was biting his lip, hard, as he fumbled the paper out of the envelope. Sweat gleamed on his brow as he unfolded the page. It was one page long and Howard closed his eyes and took a long breath before he opened them. Seeing his name carved out in Vince's shaky hand brought tears to his eyes.

_My Howard,_


End file.
